The Cost of Giving It Back

The first customer had brought a bag that had once held a cauliflower. Ada knew because the price label was still on it. She wrapped paper round the clock so the sharp edge of the case wouldn't damage the bag. The woman watched, already holding the handles.

‘So you won't be doing anything else to it?’

‘Not for what you want to spend. I've told you what I found. You can still have somebody else assess it.’

‘That takes more of my time.’

Ada nodded. The woman was right about the time. She had said it last week too. Then Ada could still put the clock on the shelf and tell herself she was waiting for an answer. Now it really was leaving.

The woman asked for the separate key. Ada took the labelled bag and laid it on top of the clock, under a fold of paper. The woman looked inside, tied the bag shut and left. Outside she had to open it again because her bicycle key was at the bottom. Ada watched through the window and didn't follow her out. She found it herself.

On her list Ada put a date beside the first of the three unassessed clocks she had decided last week not to take on. The word Returned didn't make the box any bigger. She brought the clock due to leave at the end of the morning a little further forward, its own job sheet beside it.

At half past nine Mrs Van Hoorn came for a small repaired clock. That one didn't have to begin with a refusal. Ada had carried out the agreed work and checked its running. She left it upright on the counter for a moment and showed Mrs Van Hoorn where to leave clearance when she put it back. The woman asked for something in writing: her husband would want to know precisely what had been done.

‘For you as well,’ Ada said.

She finished the description already with the job sheet and gave her a copy. The woman paid and said she was going to the florist first. Not with this clock under her arm, she added. Her son was waiting in the car. She had put him somewhere he couldn't keep hooting outside the shop. Ada smiled. She didn't know the son and didn't see him when the woman left.

The second small job was collected just after ten. The man stayed in the doorway because his dog was tied to a lamppost outside. Ada wasn't taking a clock out to settle the bill in the street. With her agreement he brought the dog onto the mat to wait. It immediately lay down where the door needed to open.

‘Over here,’ the man said.

The dog lifted its head and put it down again.

Between them they made room. Then the clock could go on the counter as usual and the man could have his paperwork. He asked another question about the striking mechanism and looked at the dog while she answered. Ada stopped talking until he looked back at her. It didn't make the conversation longer; she didn't have to repeat herself.

After they left she entered the two payments under receipts and the two collections on her work list. There was income today. It made her want to imagine an easier afternoon than the one ahead. Paul Hoving's box stood under the bench, ready to be checked again.

His decision had arrived by email. He didn't want to proceed at six hundred and ten euros. He had written that he had expected something quite different when she took it on, and was sorry to be finding this out only now. Ada hadn't sent back an explanation about her Wednesdays. She had offered half past eleven this Saturday for the return of the complete clock and his deposit. He had confirmed.

She put the email with his original job sheet. Behind it was Jeroen's report, which Paul had been allowed to read. The examination invoice was addressed to her. A hundred and eighty euros. His decision hadn't changed the amount.

She logged into her own bank account. She copied the invoice number into the transfer, checked the recipient's name and paid. There was no reason to keep Jeroen waiting for his money because she had made an agreement with no room in it. She saved the confirmation with the invoice and noted the payment date. Then she laid the separate list of customer deposits beside it. Ninety euros against Paul. That went back to him today. She didn't need to take it out of her own pay; she had kept it separate all along.

She hadn't finished checking the clock box when the second unrepaired clock was collected. The man only wanted to know where to sign. Ada showed him first that all his parts were there. He inspected them with an impatient nod. It wasn't a complicated piece and she hadn't needed to turn it into a technical discussion. Even so, he clearly wanted to leave. She handed over his things and recorded the collection. The payment box on his job sheet stayed blank.

She began Paul's set again from the start. The brass case still had its dull patch above the little door. The dial and hands were protected; the pendulum was separate. The movement sat firmly on its stand. She checked the numbers on the bags. The old, replaced part lay with the new one that had fitted correctly. Jeroen had done none of the more expensive machining. His examination had shown enough to propose it, not to decide on the customer's behalf.

Ada covered the set with a cloth when the bell rang.

Paul was ten minutes early. One elbow of his jacket was darker than the other, and he held a folded shopping bag in both hands. He looked first at the Wednesday closing sign, then at the notice about the temporary pause on taking repairs. Ada asked if he wanted to sit while she finished something. It was her preparation for his appointment, not another customer's conversation running over.

‘I can stand,’ he said.

‘It's ready. I'll bring it over.’

She cleared the counter and set out the parts in the order listed on the paper. Paul unfolded his bag. He waited for her to begin.

Ada named what was there and asked him to check with her. He didn't reach for a part straight away. He held the sheet with one finger.

‘I still don't understand how it came to so much more.’

She turned the report so he could read it. She didn't point out every technical term, only the difference between her first assessment and what the further examination had revealed. The part that fitted hadn't solved the other problem. The wear needed more work. She had offered her first estimate as a fixed repair price.

‘And then it went to somebody else,’ Paul said.

‘To be examined. We agreed that on the phone.’

‘Yes. Because you said I wouldn't get an extra bill.’

‘You won't.’

He looked at the box. ‘But it runs worse now than when I brought it?’

‘It isn't assembled for use at the moment. I'm returning it unrepaired. I can't tell you it will run reliably if you have it put back together.’

‘It didn't before, either.’

‘No.’

Ada didn't unpack the old and new parts to prove what she had done. He had the report. She showed him how both were labelled and said the new one was going with it too, without asking him to pay for that bag after all. Paul looked. He asked whether another clockmaker would know what had happened.

‘With this description, yes. They can ring me too, if anything's unclear.’

That seemed to be the first useful thing she had said. He laid the report on his own copy of the original job sheet. She had kept a copy for herself. The original customer slip was his.

‘I'll see if somebody can do it for less,’ he said.

‘You're free to do that.’

She heard how it sounded, as though she were giving permission. She didn't retract it, but she didn't start on the cost of good workmanship either. He didn't need a defence of her trade.

‘You'll have your ninety euros back in full,’ she said. ‘Shall I use the account you paid it from?’

He nodded. Ada had him check the last digits and made the refund. She turned the confirmation screen towards him. He looked, then took out his phone, where nothing had appeared yet. Ada said she could send him the confirmation too. He wanted it.

First the message had to go. The wireless connection kept them waiting. Ada stayed where she was. Paul laid his phone on the counter and looked at a clock above her head. She found herself wanting to tell him when that one had last stopped. A strange urge, to give him another customer now she hadn't finished his clock.

The confirmation went through. Paul saw it arrive, tapped it open and nodded again.

‘Right.’

He helped pack the parts into the outer box. The folded shopping bag turned out not to fit. Ada gave him the box she had used for transport, its labelled parts protected and kept apart. His empty bag went into his jacket pocket.

‘I'd rather have collected it working,’ he said at the door.

‘So would I.’

He didn't say next time. She held the door until he and the box were past the frame. Outside he didn't turn towards the parking bays. Perhaps somebody had parked elsewhere. Ada stayed until he was out of sight, then returned to the bench. She folded the cloth and put it in the drawer.

The third clock to go back was collected just before closing by a young man who wasn't its owner. His mother had rung to say he was coming. Ada checked the arrangement and asked him to inspect the contents. He photographed them before closing the bag. She didn't like it, and had no objection to it.

‘She just wanted to know everything was there,’ he said.

‘So do I.’

He grinned. He was going on to an appointment he was already late for. Ada didn't ask what it was. The three entries from the group she hadn't initially assessed now all had actual collection dates. With Paul and the two small repairs, six spaces had opened up. She put no new boxes in them.

After one she turned the sign round. Somebody knocked on the glass as she closed the till. She pointed at the hours. The man held a leaflet to the window, shook his head and went on. A salesman she wouldn't have needed at any other time either.

She ate lunch in the shop because she had brought her food. The customer's chair was empty. There was less to tidy than last week, and more paper. She filed Paul's documents separately: original agreement, permission for the examination, report, declined repair quote, return and refund. Jeroen's invoice went with her own expenses. She looked once more at the two payment confirmations. Different names, different amounts.

She didn't need to tell anybody that. The examination had still left her available balance a hundred and eighty lower. Mrs Van Hoorn's payment and the dog owner's stood on the other side of the week's figures. That didn't suddenly make those repairs better paid. She couldn't change the ending of every conversation by putting it in another column.

She stopped before she added all the amounts again. October's statement had arrived. On the agreed day she would put it beside the notebook. Today she had delivered, returned and paid for what had actually been agreed.

At home her sister rang about a birthday Ada had been to last year as well. Would she bring some food? Ada said yes, potato salad, and wrote it on the calendar. Her sister went on about somebody who hadn't picked the children up on time. Ada listened with the phone between shoulder and ear as she took a limp lettuce from the fridge.

She had nothing left to do for the shop on Saturday evening. A bare little sentence she didn't say aloud. She tore off the bad leaves, threw them away and decided to eat the rest tomorrow. There was still soup for tonight.